Cold
by trunks111
Summary: Warnings: Suicide, self-harm, disassociation, depression, swearing, adult situations. Yaoi. Gaara doesn't necessarily want to live. Something is keeping him alive though. He wants to know why, but he never gets any answers. Maybe there's a point.
1. Chapter 1

"I could say,  
It wasn't always this way,  
But that would be a lie. I've only just started noticing just how bad it really is.  
I used to just do what I needed to.  
Shove my feelings away.  
Do what I thought I had to.  
But then...,  
I broke.  
Everything I built over the years crumbled. For the first time,  
I saw myself for what I was.  
And that,  
Is what broke me completely...  
I've been trying to put the pieces back.  
But they won't seem to fit.  
I can't help but wonder,  
Why bother?  
It'll just crumble again..."

Gaara looked up from typing in his phone. He felt a little bit better after writing.  
In the last few months especially, he's grown to learn quite a bit about himself. Including things because of his ex, he repressed. A sigh escapes his barely parted lips as he forces himself to get off the couch and go upstairs. After stopping in his room to pick up his pajamas, he wanders over to the bathroom, shutting the door quietly. Before undressing, he regards himself in the mirror. Messy red hair, tired green eyes, expressionless face. He sighs again before taking a shower.  
He doesn't take long, toweling off and putting boxers and a large t-shirt on. He wanders aimlessly around his apartment, not quite tired, just restless.

Sitting on the couch, the apartment silent, he listened to what was going on in his head.  
Truth be told, he has disassociative identity disorder. He has four alters, three female and one male. And then there's him. Anymore, he can't really discern who's who. He seems to stay pretty disassociated. He rarely comes out of his own head, letting the others deal with pretty much everything for him. He doesn't want to be alive, but he can't seem to die, no matter how hard he tries. So he's mostly resigned himself to living, though he doesn't treat his shell very well.  
He's got clinical depression as well, which may be why he can't find anything interesting. He can't seem to care about that either though, it always comes back to "what's the point?". The others though, except for one, seem to want to live. They give off the illusion of him being fine, maybe even content.  
It's not like he cares about that either.

His alters are conversing amongst themselves, Drew and Bo are sitting on the couch in the living room area, both are smiling, he doesn't bother listening to their conversation. Flaire is sitting by herself in the chair, looking bored as usual. Ruby is no where in sight, which is also normal for her.  
Bored, he walks into his own room, Drew or Bo will likely take the reins, so to speak, leaving him to do as he likes. Sometimes, he's aware of what they do, sometimes they'll tell him or show him later, other times, he's completely unaware of what goes on. Either way, he really doesn't care much. Nothing matters to him, except for keeping his apartment.  
Yawning, he flops on to his bed, closing his eyes. He doesn't sleep, instead, just thinking further.

His ex fucked him over pretty bad. That relationship ended over a year ago, but he's still feeling the effects. For some inconceivable reason, he had gone out with Sai. Despite telling Sai about his gender, sexual orientation, DID, and depression, it was all largely brushed off and ignored. Sai all but forced him into therapy for his anger and depression though, encouraging him to try medication despite his misgivings about it. As usual, Gaara had gone along with it, if only to make him shut up. Hell, he did that in almost every aspect of their relationship. Sai didn't want to understand, he didn't want to even try, no matter how Gaara attempted to help him.

The red head had brought up having DID to his therapist early on, she said she didn't think he had it and Gaara had told Sai of what she said and the other male insisted he didn't really have it either. So..., he ignored his alters, he pretended they didn't exist. They did though, and continued helping him, even if he tried to convince himself they didn't exist. The first medication he was put on, took away his ability to feel anything. Sai was happy though, Gaara didn't have anymore angry outbursts at his video games. His anxiety got better, and for a while, so did his depression. He couldn't write though, he couldn't feel anything. Honestly, he felt therapy wasn't helping and ceased attendance and taking the meds. He felt immensely better after he stopped taking them. He felt like himself again.  
Sai bitched about it, questioning him, Gaara tried to explain but Sai just insisted he needed to go back to therapy.

A year and eight months, he was with Sai, his longest relationship to date. During that time, he attempted suicide three times. Sai was completely unaware, each time. He still doesn't know.

Even so, since then, his depression has still worsened and he still wants to commit suicide.  
It's like he wrote earlier, nothing's really gotten better or likely ever will.  
Over another year passed before he acknowledged his alters again. He even discovered a fourth, Drew. A lot has changed, but at the same time, it hasn't. He's just aware of it now. He's honestly just waiting to die, but nothing seems to work.

He withdraws from his head, carrying his tired shell up the stairs where he collapses onto his bed. With one eye open, he manages to turn his xbox on and set it to play something on Netflix. He plugs his phone in, nearly falling asleep and missing the port a few times, before laying his head back on the pillow and promptly passing out.  
Yeah..., not much has changed, nor does he think it ever will.


	2. Chapter 2

His therapist wants to understand his DID, so has encouraged him to explain as much as possible about each of his alters. So with an inaudible sigh, he flips open his notebook and after scribbling the date, begins to write about his first alter, or at least the one he noticed first.

 _Flaire: First noticed when I was fourteen. She's got long dark red hair, blue eyes, she's slender, attractive. She's a lesbian, through and through. Extremely sexual. Though it really seems more about the chase and the sex, than actually being with whomever it is. She's in her mid twenties.  
She has a British accent, though she was French born. She was taken from her family at a young age to become a child prodigy on the violin. She played for court in Britain. It was around the 1300-1400s. She was killed because of a jealous woman. The woman thought Flaire was sleeping with her husband, when in reality, she was sleeping with the man's sister. It was a dagger to the back.  
_

 _Bo: Second noticed shortly after Flaire, maybe around fifteen. She has long blond hair, green eyes, and she's even smaller than Flaire. Tall though. She died in the 70s. She had anorexia, but people never noticed, they just thought she was thin from running track and playing volleyball. She was only seventeen when she died. A hit and run. They never found out who did it or anything. She didn't party, like everyone else. She's rather child-like, cuddly, sweet, and all of those squishy things. She's typically smiling._

 _Ruby: Third to become aware of, probably around fifteen as well. Long black hair, pale skin, clear blue eyes. She was in her mid twenties when she died. In an alternate reality, she was an assassin. She died on a job. She shouldn't have died. She killed the one who killed her, but she still died because of the poison on the dagger. She's a sadist, simply for the sake of being one. She doesn't care who she hurts or even if she hurts them. She's cold and generally uncaring. Angry._

 _Drew: Fourth to become aware of, twenty. Short black hair, blue eyes, lean slightly muscular. He's a romantic. Always the peace-maker, or at least trying to be. He died in the 90s. He wears his heart on his sleeve. He's sweet and all of that._

Gaara leaned back from his writing. That seemed to be everything...  
His gaze drifted to the window. He wondered, were the meds he was currently taking affecting him or just them? It's not like he was out enough to notice a change in his depression. But if the others didn't have depression, how would they even affect them? For all intents and purposes, he truly doesn't care. Death won't welcome him, so he just stays inside his own head, letting the others deal with everything. He has no will to do anything anyway. So why bother? It's not like anything really makes him happy or even content. Every day, is exactly the same as the last. The only variations that exist are his therapy sessions and days off work. And even those have a monotony to them. Everything is a chore, from eating to working. Sleep is all he really looks forward to, because at least then, he's even more unconscious of the world.

With his alters, he's rather complicated in many ways. His gender, which is Agender, a lack of gender.  
His orientations, his being Cupioflux, meaning he desires relationships without necessarily feeling any attraction to the person or persons involved.  
Drew is bisexual, with a preference for men.  
Bo is polysexual and demisexual, and polyromantic.  
Flaire is completely homosexual.  
Ruby is Aromantic and homo-grayasexual.

A complicated mess, no?  
He thinks so, and so, doesn't think about those things often. He strongly dislikes people and doesn't want to be around them any more than he absolutely has to. Being alone is the single greatest thing to him, alone in his dark room, with his xbox. He prefers it that way. People cause too many complications. He doesn't find many things in his life to be good. Nothing is interesting or worth doing. Everything is a chore.  
Maybe it's the depression, but he doesn't think so, he's never felt like he belonged in this life. He first noticed that, when he was around twelve or thirteen. Since then, the feeling has only grown stronger, but it's not like he can change anything, gods know he's tried. So he lets the others live for him, he doesn't have the energy to deal with anything or anyone. He just wants to be left alone, to die. He's accepted it probably won't happen though. As much as he wants it. He even has the means to the deed, sitting in his bathroom. He's going to be much more careful with his next attempt. He doesn't want to fail again. He should have died last time, by all medical means. He didn't though, and so he plans to try again, though he hasn't planned quite when yet. He has to do more research on dosing and such things. To make sure nothing goes wrong.  
His therapist is aware of his intentions, but she knows nothing will change anything. No hospital, nothing. She's convinced he wants to live, because he does all these things that indicate he doesn't feel as bad as he does. But she doesn't seem to understand that it's not him doing those things. It's the others. They can act like him, pass as him, he's probably never even actually spoken to her. Maybe once or twice, but usually no. And she has no idea, she can't tell the difference. Sometimes, he wants to yell at her, that what she perceives as him, isn't really him. But he knows he won't, he's not the yelling sort. And it wouldn't help. Nothing will.


	3. Chapter 3

His therapist thought perhaps he didn't truly have DID, instead they could just be voices, a minor form of psychosis due to his depression. So..., he and Ruby decided to prove a point.  
The day of his appointment, he let Ruby take over, completely. Something he never does, she rarely comes out unless he gets extremely pissed off. But while she was out, she dyed his hair black, did his black eyeliner even thicker and painted her lips with red lipstick. She also dressed in Tripp pants and a tight sleeveless shirt with a button-up over it. All in black, the only color being the lipstick.  
She guessed correctly that it wasn't him that day. She commented that Ruby seemed manipulative. And she agreed, seeing nothing wrong with it. Do as is needed, use people as they will use you. She has no qualms with it and neither does he. Because as she stated, why does it matter?  
Annoyance is a default for Ruby, anger, is her second nature. Thankfully, she restrained herself and didn't do anything too traumatizing to his therapist.

When he got home, the make-up was removed and he showered, changing into comfortable clothes. His hair was still black, which at first was slightly disorienting. He pushed that aside though and started to play on his Xbox. He played Dragon Age Inquisition for a few hours before going to bed, he planned to hang with a friend that night, as soon as he woke up.  
He kept waking up and passing back out, so he didn't get to his friend's until midnight. They played cards for a few hours before pizza was ordered. They ate and continued to play cards, trying to reach a winner. They got close enough before deciding to stop playing and going to watch a movie. They chose Hide and Seek, planning to watch the different endings. He wound up staying until mid-morning, going home only because he had to take his roommate to the grocery.

He was irritable the entire time, he had been enjoying spending time with his friend,=. Though when he got back to his apartment, he went into his room and laid down, enjoying the cold.

He let his mind wander, before..., week before this one, Bo had spoken to the therapist. Because she had a really good night, the night before. And that explained the very definite change in demeanor his therapist had noticed.  
Which brought him to his next thought, were the meds even helping? Honestly, he couldn't tell. Every day was pretty much exactly the same. Not much was interesting at best, and sleep sounded like the best thing ever. It was all he wanted to do, he didn't though, but even so he was in a constant state of tiredness. No matter how much sleep he did get, he remained just as tired as when he went to bed originally.

He honestly didn't think he was going to get better. It just doesn't seem likely. Maybe it's because he avoids everything. Literally. He doesn't partake in his own therapy sessions. Especially now that she wants to work on his PTSD. She thinks that, that may be the root of his depression. But he doesn't want to think about those things. He doesn't want to acknowledge their probable reality. So he doesn't. He ignores it and shoves it away, burying it just like everything else he doesn't want to feel. If it's not anger, sadness, or the feeling of an achievement, he buries it. He doesn't want to deal with anything. More than half the time, all he can think about his how he would just honestly rather be dead. It would be easier. He's tired, tired of being tired. It never seems to get better. Not for long anyway. Something always fucks it up. Always.

He rolls onto his side, opening the memo thing on his phone and typing a new poem.

"It's deeper than that.  
Maybe it was working.  
But as usual...,  
I think it stopped.  
I'm more than tired,  
More than exhausted.  
I yet again,  
Have everything.  
But...,  
That doesn't make me want any of it.  
So what am I supposed to do?  
Continue?  
Pretend I'm fine?  
Just like before?  
To what end?  
It crumbled last time,  
It will again.  
Nothing good ever stays.  
This life is not worth living.  
No matter what you say."

He saved it and closed the app, making the screen go dark before rolling onto his back, arms folded behind his head.  
Is it bad that he figures once his roommate moves out like they plan to, that then he'll have nothing to stop him? He can't die, and leave them with all the bills. So he wants to wait until they leave. Then commit the deed. It still requires more research anyway. He has to calculate a lot of things, get it exactly right, to overdose. It's pretty precise science if you think about it.  
With a soft sigh, he rolls onto his stomach and begins to type another poem.

"Maybe it's because I let Them deal with it?  
I can't see any difference because it's not Me.  
But I don't want life,  
How much more clear can I make that?  
I'm never believed,  
I've tried to die.  
Death refuses to take me.  
I want no part in this life.  
I may have everything,  
But I want nothing.  
I let Them,  
They live,  
Everyone thinks it's Me,  
But I'm detached,  
Dead inside,  
But the outside won't die.  
I gave up a long time ago,  
Nothing ever sticks.  
This life I don't want,  
Refuses to let me go."

He closes the app again and lays his face into the pillow. It's soft. His favorite.  
Lazily, he wonders if he doesn't have dysthymia, which is mild or chronic depression. It would have had to be over two years, which his has definitely lasted longer. Could he have that and major depression? Because it seems to be getting worse by the day, even with meds. Even with the proverbial everything. As usual though, all this seriousness, has exhausted him even further. He turns the xbox onto Netflix and finds some animated comedy to play in the background as he tries to sleep.  
He's tired, but he can't seem to sleep. Sighing, he rolls onto his side and watches the show, replying to the few messages his friends have sent him. He just wants to sleep, but it won't have him. He's wary of taking sleeping meds, even if he's not trying to OD..., he's worried he may accidentally attempt to because the temptation to do so is great. He runs a hand through his hair and and closes his eyes, willing himself to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

He realized something today... During sex, he or whoever happens to be in control, zones out pretty hard. He knows he should be thinking about the other person, about how attractive they are, how lucky he is to have them, gay shit like that. But he doesn't. Maybe he had once, but not anymore. It doesn't matter what is being done, either to him or by him, he just completely zones out. Thinking about other things, things he has to do later, things he wants to do, anything other than what he's currently doing.  
He only does it because his partner wants to. It's very rare that he does.  
He's even been told by his other and past partners that he shouldn't do things like that if he doesn't want to. Though..., he does it anyway. Because they want it. He wants to make them happy. And if that's what he has to do, for them, then he will.

He always regrets it, even if he had wanted to that particular time. Or usually Flaire had wanted to. He found out about it somehow, and then feels like utter shit. Regretting it and feeling disgusting.

Even though he knows he doesn't have to, he could tell his partner no, he doesn't. Finding it easier to just let shit happen cause it's usually over in a few hours and he can go back to doing what he wants to. Their happy and he will be soon too.

He can do things for himself. In most cases. He doesn't want to though. Preferring to just let the others handle it. It's easier. He doesn't see much of a point to anything anyway.  
It's not like he believes someone when they say they want to help him. He's heard that shit before, and look where it got him, just heartache.

He'll probably regret today later, at some point, he always does.  
He knows it's not healthy, doing what he does, but what does it matter? They're happy. That's what matters. Nothing else.

Lately, he's felt pretty numb. More than usual. Maybe it's the change in medication. Or maybe so much has been going on lately, he just disassociates but not enough that one of the others takes over.  
Really, all he wants to do, is sleep. Hours, and hours. Maybe even a full day of sleeping. He can't though, he has work and all his days off, he's got plans with a partner and a friend. With a sigh, he glances at the tv, playing an animated comedy, like usual. It's moderately interesting sometimes, if it or anything can really hold his attention anymore. Not that much can or does. '

His few friends no nothing of his DID, mostly. Two or three, tops, know. But no one talks about it, just like they don't talk about his depression or theirs. Or his excessive sleeping. No one really cares about each other anymore. The world is just a shit hole. No one cares about anyone. People die every day and it could be prevented in most cases. It's infuriating yet nothing will likely ever be done about it.  
Everything's gray. No real color. Nothing to look forward to. No reasons to continue. But he does anyway. He's not sure why.  
Life sucks, though people try to say it gets better. Maybe it does. Maybe it just takes longer sometimes...  
He doesn't believe in a lot of the things he used to. He lost faith in even the gods. They used to be a sort of big part of his life. He believed, he read the lore. He cared.  
Anymore though, he doesn't. He rarely considers their existence.  
As so many have said, what god would allow this?

He sighed again, closing his eyes. His life, was definitely not where he wanted it to be. He wasn't sure it ever would be. Something always fucked up whatever good there was. He knew he shouldn't be thinking like that, but he couldn't help it. There was evidence of it.


	5. Chapter 5

So many things reminded him of Sai. It was infuriating when it would occur. It could be something simple, ice cream, for fucks sake. He couldn't go down that aisle at work, without remember him. They would go there, to get their ice cream, fancy flavors, unlike their usual, plain chocolate yogurt. Sai would get Decadent Moose Tracks, and he and Gaara would share it straight from the container as they binge watched a show Gaara turned the black-haired male onto.  
Even that show, he couldn't bring himself to watch it. It reminded him of Sai. Even though he'd been into the show before meeting him. Before they rewatched it together from season one.  
It was a favorite show too, one he had originally fallen out of watching because school and work had gotten in the way. To this day, he can't bring himself to click on it in the Netflix menu. It's been almost two years, hasn't it?

When Sai left, he left Gaara his poster from the show too, denying Gaara from buying him a replacement.  
The poster is another annoying reminder. Along with another poster left upstairs, from a show the damn man hadn't even known anything about! Yet he had an original poster.  
Just today, at work, a fellow associate had shown him a spiderman belt and he faintly remembered how much Sai had liked that character. He had bought him a few spiderman themed things throughout their relationship.

Things wouldn't let him stop remembering that damned bastard. He doesn't want to think about Sai anymore. It doesn't help that he still gets his damned mail. Occasionally seeing him while he's at work is always unpleasant as well.  
The most annoying things reminded him too. His partner, Kiba, had a tongue ring, just like Sai had... Not exactly mind, the ball was different. But Sai had gotten his tongue pierced because he thought it was "cute". That, irritated the hell out of him. He had already disliked tongue rings, but that, that just served to piss him off. He hadn't mentioned his feelings about tongue rings to Kiba though, because it didn't matter. His body, his choice. It was just an irritating reminder. One he would deal with.

Another thing had occurred to him today as well. He had derealization disassociation more often than he had previously realized...  
Typically, not always, but most noticeably it occurred when he was fucking someone. Or getting fucked. Whichever it happened to be. He would just start laughing to himself, sometimes asking aloud how he got himself into these situations. It just didn't seem real. He never actively wanted sex, Flaire did, sure, but not him. Somehow, she'd always get her way and he'd wind up having fucked someone.  
Not like it mattered, he was good at what he did, always had been. It was just flesh, after all. Not that important.  
His body was just a prison anyway. So why care what it does?

He learned another interesting thing today. He purchased a new knife, one much like an old one he had when he worked his second job. It was a small blade, no wider than his pinky. Very sharp too. He didn't even have to press that hard. Blood sprang up easy. It was truly wonderful. The only problem being used to dull blades..., he may have cut a little too deeply... It wouldn't stop bleeding... But he cleaned and re-sterilized everything. It seemed he found the knife he would do the deed with. Providing he never lost it or it never got rusted or some such terrible occurrence. The blood was a beautiful dark red, much like his natural hair color. He smiled as his arm bled. Finally, a blade that could cut. Without much effort either. Clean slice too. His skin parted easily.

As he sat on the couch with Kiba, he vaguely wondered when he would start to despise his existence. It was what always happened. For some reason, everything about his current partner would eventually just start to grate on his nerves. Didn't matter what it was, how much he liked them. He always grew to hate them. Usually, at first anyway, he didn't want to hate them. But..., as with all things, it seemed inevitable.  
Anger and hatred just went hand-in-hand. Things he learned quite early in his life. His father had always been angry, and hating the one that raised him for the most part was second-nature by the time he was ten. His anger got worse as he got older, but he did manage to be able to control it better, even with Ruby, he had to hold her back many times. She wanted homocidal rampages, and while logically he knew it was entertaining and plausible, he wouldn't.

Yeah..., life sucked. Always and Forever, right?  
He chuckled quietly to himself, an old phrase he used to really enjoy. Anymore though, he wonders if Forever even exists.


	6. Chapter 6

When he woke for work that night, he glanced down at his arm and smiled. It hadn't really even hurt. He felt better, knowing he had the knife. But he felt numb in all other aspects.  
He could truly see how it could become addicting.  
It was nice, feeling nothing... Not really having to hide it.  
The reason he had done it, was great. He just wanted to see if that knife would cut him. And it did. No other reason, he just wanted to cut for the fuck of it.

Tai would get all anxious over his doing it, so he would feel bad about cutting. Tai or as he's legally known, Tayuya, is Gaara's other partner. No one calls him Tayuya, unless they want their face rearranged. He's non-binary, like Gaara. He understands why Gaara self-harms, but he still worries about him. Gaara wishes he and Kiba wouldn't.  
Kiba was easier to talk to about it. He understood and semi-frequently did the same. Though he got tattoos, instead of cutting. Kiba didn't shame him for it, he just worried and wanted to know.  
Naturally, Gaara is used to hiding it because people are always sensitive and shit. But Kiba and Tai..., they want to know. Be there for him and all that gay shit. He doesn't care. It's not like he needs to, it's just nice to do, every once in a while. Physical pain is fun.  
Now Sai, really had a problem with it. Any type of self-harm, Sai got pissy over it. He didn't understand why. He didn't want to either. No matter what Gaara said, wrote, or tried to get him to read, he would just scoff and roll his eyes.

Lately, it was like he was doing anything and everything he could to go back to how he was when he was fourteen. He was drinking caffeine again, cutting, staying up far too late. The proper word for all that was relapsing. That's basically what it was... And, he didn't care. It was awesome to drink Mountain Dew again. Cutting, was awesome. Now if he could just find a brick wall to punch, bruise and bloody his knuckles, it would be fucking perfection. Lately, he's wanted to do all of those things. He's even contemplated buying twelve packs of Dew. So far, he hasn't. But it's very tempting. Just like cutting. He doesn't think he has an addictive personality, he just doesn't care about much. Pain, is fun, death is what he wants so why not seek it? Why not destroy the outside as well as the in? Make them match. Not like anyone cares anyway. They'll believe lies spun. They always do.  
Though..., Kiba, Tai, and Hinata care... For some reason. As much as he wants to curse them for it, it's not like he doesn't care for them in turn. He doesn't usually get attached to people though. Because everything is temporary. Nothing ever lasts. So it's best not to get attached anyway. Play the game, but don't get trapped, right? Yeah, he used to believe that. But somehow..., he cares about them, he just wishes they wouldn't care about him.

Tai, is terrified of relapsing into his old habits. Gaara understands, he doesn't actively seek death, not like Gaara. He wants to help him with it, but he's unsure how to do so. Relapse is normal though, a few times, more even. It happens. Just have to pick yourself back up and do it again. Recovering. It's a long ass process. One Gaara doesn't have the patience for. He's ready to just watch the world burn because fuck it all right.

He couldn't see what was so bad about relapsing. Sure, it might hurt, but pain is fun. Means you're alive, even if you don't want to be. Pain is an anchor. Keeping you tethered to this gods forsaken world. Death is a slow process sometimes too. From the minute you begin to live, you also begin to die. Kind of tragic, isn't it? Doomed, from birth to death. You can't fight death. It comes for everyone. And when it comes for him, Gaara is going to welcome it with open arms and a smile. Cause death has to come for everybody, right?

Pain is good. Bleeding is awesome. Feeling nothing, just makes it all better. Being numb is nice, better than all the damn chatter in his head, bugging him to let them do what they want, hardly giving him peace. He's been dealing with almost everything lately. It's rather exhausting really. But it's what needs to be done, and so he does it.

In honesty, he recognizes how far he's fallen. From what he used to be, what he used to believe. He doubts, almost everything. Sometimes, even his own existence. Because it doesn't "get better". What god would allow this? Pointless, senseless deaths. Humanity is naught but a stain upon the Earth. He doesn't even know if he believes in the gods anymore. Or fate. Or even destiny. What proof is there of any of these things? All there is, is death. That's all that awaits.


	7. Chapter 7

'Why?  
Why now?  
Could it be that simple?  
I suppose.  
But it never is,  
So that leads back,  
To why now?  
The only question...,  
Is why.'

Gaara glanced around after saving his latest poem. Another year had gone by. A year at his current job. He never expected to make it this far. But now..., at this year mark, old feelings resurface, with vigor. He's undeniably tempted to try again. Just to do it. Just to feel something. Something that would make him realize he's alive.  
He refrains though. From most dangerous behaviors anyway. Some habits though, are harder to break and he's still not ready to attempt to give them up. He doesn't know that he ever will be ready.  
It's like he's always said, something's just have to be.

Inexorably, his thoughts are drawn to Sai. Anymore, he really only felt pity and a small amount of anger towards him. He pitied the other man because he would likely never make good on his dreams and die scared of death. He was angry because of how far back Sai had set him. Sai honestly, wasn't even fit for the title of asshole to be given to him. Sai was a fucking pussy, plain and simple. Though he wasn't the fun, lickable kind...

For some reason, he wants to give up. Despite everything. So much good, surrounded him, was waiting for him, but the darkness beckoned as always. It's illogical. And he sees that, but still, something within him insists, giving up, like he swore many years ago he never would, sounded fine.  
He was in pain, just like before, it wasn't physical, just psychological.

He told his therapist about making himself emotionless, and she replied that due to his writing, clearly he was feeling something.  
Maybe she was right. It just never felt like him. More like he was watching the world go by through a stranger's eyes. Chances were, with his DID, he was. He was the writer, yes, but he wrote from them. He could just spin it artistically.  
Growing up, he was always in tremendous psychological pain. He felt everything. From everyone. He was always angry, it was easier to stay angry than to let anything else faze him. But eventually, he numbed himself to even that.  
He always felt everything, from as long as he could remember. But he made himself emotionless, he became the emotionless asshole the world wanted him to be. He convinced himself he was better off that way too. When he was younger, he immersed himself in books, in fantasy worlds because it was better than his reality. He lost himself in those worlds the books created. He became convinced of their reality and began longing for those days. All he wanted, was for life to be like that. He was eleven when he came out to most of his school as gay. He didn't realize it was "bad".  
And so he hated himself even more, for everything he wasn't. He had virtually no friends, he hated his life and himself. He was eleven when he first cut. For the longest time, he never drew blood. Using sharpened wooden pencils to make the cuts on his biceps. He also kept a rubberband around his right hand, snapping it every time he thought he found a boy cute or something. Trying to make himself "normal". Obviously, it was in vain. But it just added to the rage, but he learned to control it, to hide it and everything else. He was just the quiet kid. He had no friends, he didn't laugh, he didn't do anything after-school. He was nobody.  
Even when an older man in his family died, he felt nothing. He felt the others' pain, but he felt nothing. It was what the old man had wanted, so why should he be sad he was gone?  
When he first learned about having DID, he tried to deny it. Eventually, he accepted it, and let things happen, gladly relinquishing control of himself to the others. He didn't care.  
He hadn't lost faith yet then, he still believed in Fate and Destiny. Everything happened for a reason. The Old Gods were true. He believed strongly, probably because it gave him hope. That maybe, he was someone. Maybe he wasn't just another kid that no one knew and no one cared about.  
He flitted in and out of his own life heavily for the next five years. He was an asshole, he saw the world in shades of gray. He never sugarcoated anything, and so people hated him for it. But..., he didn't care, he spoke the truth as he saw it. It didn't matter if someone was hurt.

Just over two years ago..., when he got his fourth or fifth job. That's when everything really started to get bad. It turned out, he had bad anxiety, or if not him, Bo did. He never really made the distinction. He was weak. Clearly, that's what it meant. He was either too depressed to do anything, too anxiety ridden to say anything, or too angry to find solace.  
Sai never understood. Never tried to.  
Three times, he tried to die, and Sai never knew. He didn't catch on. He never knew.

But he couldn't die then. He wants to try again. He wants to succeed. He's just so tired. Just like every time before. He's tired, beyond it. Angry, shaking slightly with barely controlled rage. Depressed, desolate as before. He wants to fight. He wants to give up.  
Nothing. Nothing is worth anything. He knows that's not so. He wants to believe it. He wants to believe he hasn't come this far for nothing.  
Honestly though, what's changed?  
He's told he's made progress. Come far. But he doesn't see it.

All he wants is to fucking relapse into his old habits. Go back. He wants to feel. He knows that won't help though. But he wants to try to die anyway. Maybe it's his time now.  
He doesn't even know anymore. He doesn't really believe in the gods. He doesn't believe in anything. He tries, for others, not himself. He can't try for himself when his self wants to die.

Absently, he wonders if it's not possible for his alters to have certain symptoms of Borderline Personality Disorder. Certain alters, certain symptoms. He, Flaire, and Ruby are the daredevils. Bo and Drew are the attention seekers. He and Ruby are manipulative. Bo is overly emotional when she feels as though she may be abandoned. He is simply emotionally unstable when he does feel things, he feels them too much.  
He has no idea if it's possible, he really doesn't even care. It's just another bloody label that means nothing in the real world.  
The world is cold and unforgiving. Just as he makes himself be.

Giving up isn't an option right?  
That's what he's always told himself. He can't. But why not?

A single tear falls onto his arm as he gazes at the blank space of wall across from his bed. He needs to sleep. Work will come all too soon.


	8. Chapter 8

He stared vacantly at the plain wall of his bedroom. Anymore, he felt next to nothing. That wasn't really much of a change though. Perhaps it was the medication, he doubted that though. He might be suffering from his depression more because he keeps forgetting to take it, but the numbness wasn't due to it. No..., this numbness was a result of the events of the last few weeks. He could look back on it, and feel next to nothing, sometimes, it worried him, other times, he just smiled. But it was a cold smile, devoid of everything. Just like old times...

Three weeks ago..., he broke up with Tai.  
He was in a vindictive mood, and Ruby of course, was more than happy to aid in his emotionless state.  
It started with Tai prattling as he usually did. He wasn't sure what had really sparked it, but he was tired of listening to him. He was tired of holding his tongue. So..., he let Tai have it. He stopped holding back everything. He told him what he truly thought. Tai..., didn't take it well. It wasn't pretty, but Gaara recognized that it was necessary. They were things Tai needed to hear. Things he needed to say. And so he did.  
All of it, was a long time coming, but Gaara had forced the misgivings away. He wanted to help Tai. Like he'd wanted to help Sai. And before Sai, Zaku. He and Zaku had been pretty toxic towards each other, in terms of relationships. But all Gaara had wanted to do, was help him, and he had, just hadn't gone about it in the best way. In the years since they ended, they have become pretty good friends, acknowledging that they're far better that way anyway. They were children, and both have grown and acknowledged past mistakes. Gaara, at least, vowed to be better, only interfering if it's wanted, and backing off when it's not. A hard lesson, but one her tries to abide.  
So he tried to help Tai. Giving him everything he could. Of course..., if someone isn't ready to accept help, they can't be helped.  
In the argument that sparked the break-up, Gaara said hurtful things, things he knew would hurt, but they were things that needed to be said. Tai tried to hurt him back, but Gaara had heard worse and even believed worse about himself. He pitied Tai, he wanted better for him, obviously. But it wasn't his life, Tai had to live as he saw fit, just as Gaara had to.  
They were alone in the world. Meaningless. It was just a matter of acceptance.

About two and a half weeks ago, Kiba confessed something very personal with him. They sat in Kiba's car, at a park. Gaara waited patiently, he suspected what Kiba was going to share with him, he had suspected for weeks, but he kept his thoughts to himself. At last though, Kiba spoke, barely concealed emotion coating his words.  
"I think I'm falling in love with you."

Gaara knew, so wasn't too shocked, but he kept his mouth shut, listening.  
"I don't understand why you, why now. I've gone my whole life without this. I've never cared about someone the way I care about you."  
The red head already knew that too, but he let Kiba speak, keeping his own counsel.

When it came to light that Gaara knew already, Kiba demanded to know why he hadn't said anything, why he continued to let the other spend so much time with him.  
Gaara simply shrugged, unable to adequately answer the question.  
Kiba was afraid of the strength of his feelings, having never felt such before. Gaara however, was nonchalant about all of it.  
The others that resided in his head however, were bugging him to say how he felt about the other man. Was only fair, after all. While he agreed with that logic, how could he say how he felt when he wasn't sure how he did? He cared for the brunette, obviously, but he wasn't sure how far his feelings went. They were tricky, after all. He knew how the others felt about him, but he could rarely discern how he felt about anyone.  
All he could tell Kiba, was that he should stay, as he had been asked what he thought should be done.

Two weeks ago, he lost his job. He's trying to get it back, but he has a back-up plan, just in case. Everything..., is spiraling back to three years ago. His depression, his sleeping, his desires. Since losing his job, all he's really done is sleep. He knows he shouldn't. He wants to get up, to do things. But he can't find it within himself to do anything other than lay there. Sure, for a few hours, with Kiba, he can be fine. But once he's alone, he passes out and is dead to the waking world. At his therapists insistence, and his knowledge of how relationships should work..., he opened up to Kiba. Told him about his life, mostly a summary, but it was all he could remember at the time. Kiba was happy and listened, never wanting to push.  
While Gaara was grateful for that, he also wished he would push a little, it would be easier, he just didn't talk about himself. It was easier and better to focus on everyone else, rather than himself.

A week ago..., he told Kiba about wanting to kill himself, to attempt again. He told him how he planned to, when, and why.  
Kiba stared at him, a shocked silence. Kiba told him quietly, that if that was truly Gaara's aim, he would have to walk away. He had to protect himself from that pain.  
Gaara just smiled that smile, he understood. He didn't fault Kiba. If it was meant to be, it was meant to be.  
In the days prior to his confession, family of Gaara's had come to talk to him about his not ending it. As usual, they made it about them, not him. They saw suicide as selfish. One understood, and he understood why they said what they did. But still, it didn't sway him. He wanted, he longed, to try again. He wanted to bleed. He wanted to tempt fate. He wanted to die.  
Not to say that he still doesn't desire death...  
Hours after their conversation of suicide, Kiba apologized, but Gaara waved it away, as there was no need to apologize. He understood Kiba's reasoning. And it was fine. Understandable, logical. It didn't seem to matter though, Kiba still clearly felt guilty for what he'd said.

Another week passed, and all Gaara has done, is sleep. Bo has been out the most, since his confession. She's emotional. He finds it distasteful, but if she wants to pretend to be him in front of others and then cuddle with Kiba, that's her problem, not his.  
She feels everything intensely, and she's scared of and for Gaara. She sees how manipulative he can be, even if it's sometimes unintentional. And she's petrified of being alone, without Kiba. She understands Gaara, mostly, but she's still afraid of what he might do. He wants to tell Kiba so many things, but Gaara doesn't let her, insisting it better that he not know. That he knows enough.  
When the red head is out of his own head, he sleeps or plays video games, if it can hold his attention anyway. Nothing has been able to really, though. Nothing interesting, nothing worth doing. A spiral, one he doesn't know if he'll come out of...


	9. Chapter 9

He laid beside Kiba, in his too small bed, trying to not touch the other male. As it was actually him, and not one of the others. Kiba was still blissfully asleep. Truth be told, Gaara hated any kind of physical contact. Obviously there were very few exceptions, but generally speaking if he had to touch someone, say for a handshake, he preferred to be wearing his gloves or to simply not have to. Often times he would flinch from the touch of others, habitually expecting something not that nice. He knew it was illogical, but it happened anyway.  
He preferred being alone at least eighty percent of the time, if not ninety. Other people were messy and annoying. If he was alone, anything that went awry, was his fault and his alone.  
He hated depending on people as well. He wanted to stand on his own feet, as unsteady as they were. If he had to be, then he would do so on his own.

He went to therapy that week, and his therapist learned he had a plan to kill himself, but hadn't set a date, yet. As he had added the "yet", she deemed he needed to go to a mental hospital for a few days. She hoped it would help.  
With what was reluctant annoyance, he went by ambulance to be admitted. It was an excruciatingly boring time of waiting. He had to change into very uncomfortable green clothes as well, surrendering his personal items.  
To his further annoyance, his old guardian showed up. Gaara used his phone though, messaging Kiba.  
He told the other male, he was fine, it was just a precaution. And upon asking Kiba how he was, Gaara was rewarded with unsettling news. Kiba had cut himself twice, in one day. Something Kiba had promised not to do. But..., he had. Gaara didn't fault him, he just worried for his safety and felt tremendous guilt because he wasn't there to talk to him, perhaps he could have prevented it.  
For now, he needed out of this infernal place, so he could see Kiba.

Eventually, he was fully checked in and was given his own room in the psychiatric ward. He laid down and took a nap, napping until dinner, which was only a couple of hours away.  
He was woken by a nurse coming to tell him that dinner had arrived. By then, he had a terrible headache, likely due to lack of caffeine. Nevertheless, he got up and went to the dining area, grabbing his tray of food on the way into the room.  
The first day's food wasn't the best, a burger and salad, not food he typically ate, hating the taste of beef. Luckily there was apple juice to drink and a mixed fruit cup. He picked the fruits he liked out, and enjoyed them, eating the bun of the sandwich as well, but leaving the rest of it. He wrinkled his nose at it in distaste, but he was feeling slightly better. With nothing else to do, he returned to his room and paced some more. He had to figure a way to get out, he needed to see Kiba. To talk to him. Make sure he was okay.

Hours passed slowly, but eventually, he called a nurse in, asking about how he could get out as soon as possible. Bo's anxiety had spiked hard, just being there. He was given meds to ease the anxiety and his headache. Then she allowed him to fill out an intent to leave form.  
He wrote as neatly as possible, "I see what I did wrong. I intend to fix it. I will give up my knives and throw away the pills. My anxiety has spiked just being here. I see now it's not just about me. And I will fix my error."

She took the paper back and called the Doctor, who would have ultimate say in his going home. He waited, patiently, watching the movie that was playing in the dining room.  
She returned after fifteen minutes or so, and told him the doctor wanted to speak with him first, but what he had written was written well. Gaara bit back a retort and smiled and nodded in understanding, watching the movie until it was lights out time.  
Another day passed, breakfast, group, laying down, lunch, group, more laying down, he eventually got a book from the patient library, and alternated between reading that and playing cards in the dining area. After dinner, he had visitors. Thankfully, one was Kiba, he was relieved to see him, though they didn't really have time to discuss anything of import that day.

He spent two days in the hospital. But he convinced the doctor he was all right to go home. And he was, he meant what he had said and written. He was giving up his means. He had to. For Kiba. It really was that simple. If he was to help Kiba as he wanted to, he had to be alive to do it. While he was in there, he also changed his mind about a tattoo he planned to get. A simple wrist tattoo wouldn't be enough. He would get it on his upper neck, the spot he wanted to commit the deed in. It would be a couple of months until he got the tattoo still, but it was something that was necessary.

His feelings had not changed and likely never would. But he understood necessity. Until he could live for himself, he would live for others. For those that needed him. Like Kiba. Maybe someday, he would be able to live for himself, but not yet. And honestly, he wasn't sure when he would be able to live for himself. He hated himself and his life. Nothing seemed worth it. Nothing held his attention. He was jobless again. His roommate was moving out in a few weeks at most.  
Perhaps it was a medication issue, perhaps it was a thought issue. Whatever it was, he would have to find it within himself to make the necessary changes. For Kiba.  
For now..., that would have to be good enough, wouldn't it?


End file.
